"Huh?" Oliver blinked, confused by the request. It wasn't that he didn't understand; it was just... strange. The way the invisible voice phrased it felt off, as if the task were missing some crucial detail.
The voice had said something cryptic: "Retrieve someone, or something near the entrance of the village."
"That's it?" Oliver asked, tilting his head.
"What's wrong?" the voice responded, sounding almost amused. "Is it too difficult?"
"No, it's not difficult," Oliver muttered, still perplexed. "It's just... you were chasing me before, and now you're asking me to do something so simple? You couldn't handle this yourself?"
The voice gave a small laugh, low and unsettling. "I can't see it." It was a confession tinged with frustration. "I can sense something; something unusual, in that direction. But whatever it is, I can't perceive it directly. The only explanation is that it has the ability to hide from magic-based detection."
A chill ran through Oliver as he considered the implications. "You can't see it because... you're a magical construct yourself." His voice dropped, more statement than question.
The voice didn't deny it. "Exactly. Something there can block magical sight. I need you to find out what it is."
Oliver sighed and shook his head. "Fine. I'll check it out, but you better keep your promise."
"Must." The word echoed faintly, the promise heavy in the night air.
Without wasting time, Oliver melted into the shadows, slipping closer to the village's edge. The moonlight filtered softly through the canopy above, illuminating his path just enough to avoid tripping.
As he approached, he spotted a lone elf standing near the entrance. The elf looked completely ordinary, scratching the back of his neck absentmindedly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. A glowing green stone lay at his side, casting a faint, eerie light across the ground.
Oliver narrowed his eyes. The stone... It's different. Unlike the gray, brittle stones he'd seen before, this one shimmered with a deep emerald hue.
The elf's movements were casual, but one thing stood out: while his right foot swung lazily in the dirt, his left foot stayed planted firmly in the same spot. He was pacing but never leaving his position.
Something's off.
Oliver raised his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming directly at the green stone. But as the sunlight hit just right, something shimmered; thin, translucent, barely visible. A barrier. A protective dome encased both the elf and the gem.
That's the same kind of barrier I saw at the Black Crow's door. Oliver scowled, lowering his bow slightly.
A scroll barrier. It wasn't a spell cast on the spot, more likely, it had been activated from a hidden scroll. But the question remained: Where's the scroll?
He studied the elf again. If the elf isn't moving, the scroll must be hidden... somewhere close. The elf's strange stillness, the way he kept one foot anchored to the ground, made sense now, the scroll was likely under his left foot, keeping the barrier active.
Oliver grimaced. Great. If I get too close, I'll be exposed before I can destroy it. And with no rain in the forecast to cover his movements this time, any attempt to engage could end in disaster. If the other elves spot me, they'll swarm in an instant.
Just as he was weighing his options, the sound of footsteps drew his attention. Another elf was approaching from the distance, walking with deliberate steps.
A shift change? Oliver wondered, crouching lower behind the trees. He held his breath, hoping to use the distraction to get closer.
But then something unexpected happened.
The approaching elf stepped into the barrier and without hesitation, plunged a dagger into the chest of the elf standing there.
The blade slid in deep, and the first elf's eyes widened in shock. Before he could react, the attacker clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling any cry of alarm. The first elf writhed for a moment, then went still as the life drained from his body.
Oliver froze, stunned by what he had just witnessed. What the hell? He struggled to process the scene unfolding before him. A betrayal? Why? Aren't they on the same side?
The elf with the dagger scanned the area quickly, checking to see if anyone had noticed. Then he bent down, scooped up the glowing green gem, and stepped out of the barrier; carefully, as if the gem were a fragile treasure.
The moment he crossed the barrier's threshold, Oliver acted.
His arrow, glinting with a flash of silver in the moonlight, flew silently through the air. It struck the elf dead center, piercing between his brows. The elf toppled backward, the gem slipping from his grasp and shattering on the ground with a brittle crack.
For a moment, Oliver remained still, waiting for any signs of movement. A strange breeze brushed past him, as if the forest itself had exhaled, but he paid it no mind.
The voice's promise is fulfilled, he thought. Now it's my turn.
But as the tension lifted, another question gnawed at the back of his mind. Why did they turn on each other?
Curiosity winning out, Oliver approached the fallen elf, keeping his bow drawn just in case. The elf still clung to life, barely. His breathing was shallow, his eyes glassy with pain, but they locked onto Oliver with an eerie intensity, as if trying to communicate something important.
Oliver knelt beside him, searching the elf's body. His gaze landed on a bundle wrapped tightly in cloth, pressed against the elf's chest. Something jagged and irregular poked through the layers, another stone.
Another stone... but what's so important about this one?
With a flick of his hand, Oliver began unwrapping the cloth, peeling back the layers carefully. As he did, the elf's face twisted in pain, his expression growing darker and more desperate.
What is this stone? Oliver wondered, his pulse quickening. And why does it seem like the elf doesn't want me to touch it?
The last layer of cloth came free, revealing the stone in its entirety. It was rough and uneven, like the others he'd seen before, but there was something unsettling about it; a faint hum, as if it were alive, pulsing with some unknown energy.
The elf's breathing grew ragged, his lips twitching as if he wanted to speak but couldn't. His eyes remained locked on the stone, wide with fear.
Oliver frowned, unsettled by the elf's reaction. This isn't just any stone. Something told him this stone, whatever it was, held a far greater significance than he had initially thought.
And it wasn't finished with him yet.
As the golden light of the setting sun spread across the landscape, Oliver had initially thought that everything would be fine; no rain, no wind. He assumed the strange stones wouldn't react. But he had been wrong.
The green gem in his hand suddenly heated up, becoming scalding within seconds. With a sharp hiss of discomfort, he dropped it to the ground. The heat radiating from the stone left his fingers tingling with pain as he turned back toward the dead elf, still sprawled on the ground.
At first glance, the elf looked no different from any other. But something caught Oliver's eye; a corner of fabric sticking out from the dead man's clothing. He leaned down and tugged it free, revealing a small notebook bound with a white cloth tucked inside. He flipped it open, and a single, ominous symbol greeted him: a black crow engraved on the first page.
Oliver's stomach tightened. The Black Crow. A spy?
But why would a Black Crow spy be 'stabbed to death' by one of his own? And what about the green stone, if this wasn't Black Crow's doing, who did it belong to? The radicals, maybe? Or another faction? His thoughts whirled. The radicals were aggressive elves with orc-like tendencies; brutal and impulsive, but not exactly known for complex schemes. Still, the pieces weren't adding up.
He mulled over the idea that the elves were split into multiple factions. Could the village itself be divided? But no, the elves who had arrived earlier seemed more like reinforcements than troublemakers.
How many different forces are tangled up in this mess?
Oliver shook off the questions for now. He had no time to untangle this knot. Not yet.
His eyes sharpened as he spotted movement, one of the elves, clearly panicked, tried to limp away under the cover of dusk.
Without a second thought, Oliver raised his longbow, loosed an arrow, and watched as it struck the fleeing elf in the knee. The elf collapsed with a cry of pain, clutching his leg as blood seeped between his fingers. Oliver approached calmly, his expression cold.
"I have a few questions for you," Oliver said, looming over the injured elf. "Answer them honestly."
The elf, face pale from pain, could only nod frantically.
"Are you working with the Black Crow?" Oliver's voice was steady, but his gaze was sharp.
"No!" The elf gasped, groaning through clenched teeth. The pain kept him honest, Oliver could tell.
"Are there radicals among you?"
"Yes... yes, there are." The elf nodded quickly, fear written all over his face.
Oliver's frown deepened. "How many of you have infiltrated the Black Crow? And how many of you carry stones like this?" He gestured toward the shattered green gem on the ground.
The elf hesitated, eyes darting nervously. "I... I don't know the exact number. A lot of us... mixed in with them. As for the stones, most of us have them. Each person's given at least one."
"So you were working with them, after all." Oliver's mind raced. "What's the point of these stones? And what were you drawing earlier?"
The elf shook his head desperately. "I don't know! I swear! Some of us... we were told to draw a magic circle, but we don't know what it's for. It was... orders from the Black Crow."
Oliver narrowed his eyes, suspicion growing. "A magic circle you can't explain? Think carefully." He pressed the edge of his dagger to the elf's neck, the cold steel biting into the skin. "If you lie to me..."
The elf whimpered, panic overcoming him. "I swear it's true! We didn't know! We were just following orders!" His legs trembled beneath him, and a foul stench spread as his bladder gave out, mixing with the blood on his knee.
Before Oliver could press him further, a sudden flash of movement caught his eye, a dagger, flying through the air. It sliced through the night with deadly precision, burying itself in the injured elf's throat.
The elf gurgled, eyes wide with shock, and collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Oliver cursed under his breath, scanning the area for the attacker. "That was fast. Too fast." Whoever had thrown the dagger was skilled, perhaps even more skilled than the reinforcements he had encountered earlier.
A figure stepped out of the shadows, expression unreadable. "Is it resolved?"
Oliver scowled, rubbing the back of his neck. "There weren't many left to deal with, apparently." He glanced down at the dead elf, frustration gnawing at him. "So much for getting answers."
The figure gave a curt nod, offering no explanation. The cold silence between them lingered like the weight of unfinished business.
Oliver scratched his head awkwardly, muttering, "Well... thanks, I guess. Goodbye." He turned away without waiting for a response and made his way toward the village.
---
The village sat eerily quiet beneath the twilight sky. As Oliver walked further in, his unease grew. Something about the place felt 'off.' A strange, irregular pattern stretched across the ground; a magic circle, scrawled in jagged lines that defied symmetry.
No matter how he looked at it, the design felt wrong. Every line, every curve seemed deliberately chaotic, unsettling in its lack of order. The asymmetry gnawed at his senses, like an itch he couldn't scratch.
"What kind of circle is this?" he muttered, frowning deeply.
Ahead of him, the elves were gathered in small groups, murmuring among themselves. They were focused intently on the strange patterns, oblivious to his presence.
Oliver approached cautiously, keeping his movements quiet. At this distance, he could hear them mumbling, but none of their words made sense. They were pointing at different sections of the magic circle, gesturing animatedly, as if trying to make sense of it themselves.
At last, one of the elves glanced up, noticing him for the first time.
Oliver gave a small wave. "Hey, any idea what this is?"
The elves stared at him, expressions blank with confusion. They exchanged glances, clearly as clueless as he was.
"We... we're just laborers," one of them mumbled at last, shaking his head.
Oliver sighed deeply, rubbing his temple. "Of course you are," he muttered, exasperated. "Just my luck."
He glanced back at the pattern on the ground, the discomfort in his gut refusing to settle. Something about this circle is wrong. But without answers, there was little he could do for now.
He'd have to keep moving, whether the elves understood the magic they were drawing or not, the forces at play were far from simple. And he had a feeling things were only going to get more complicated from here.